


"no one lives there"

by lafayettelovingwriter



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Ghost!Thomas Jefferson, How Do I Tag, M/M, ghost character, i hate this story tbh, why did i even post this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 12:02:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16810204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafayettelovingwriter/pseuds/lafayettelovingwriter
Summary: i can't do summaries, remember?





	"no one lives there"

**Author's Note:**

> why?? what?? i can't??
> 
> i watched a video about someone's spooky experience with their neighboring house and was inspired to write a Hamilton AU with a verr smol n scared Alex and ghost!Jefferson.
> 
> like?? i didn't intend it to turn into a Jamilton fic despite the implications before one particular event, and honestly i'm not proud that i'm sharing this. i'm proud of the story itself, but it's kinda embarrassing to put it up for anyone to see; i had to muster up my courage n shit bc some part of me thought you guys would like this.
> 
> also!! please don't yell at me for my screwy interpretation of what a poltergeist looks like, can do, n all that shit -- it's my story. >:(
> 
> besides, it just adds onto the numerous different concepts of how certain spirits n shit work, if that makes sense.
> 
> i need to stop saying "n shit",,,
> 
> i can't do my usual random tags bc my phone hates me btw --

Alex knew no one lived in the house next door.

He was sure of it.

Everyone in the neighborhood told him; said “no one lives there,” said “you're imagining things” and “don't worry.”

Imagining what, you might ask?

The sounds.

The _sounds_ ; he heard them constantly, every day.

So, really, he couldn't be sure. He couldn't be sure that there wasn't _something_ there, with the faint noises he could hear as he passed by — a flushing toilet, the clanging of pots and pans, occasionally even shattering ceramic, like someone had dropped a bowl or something of the like. The walls of the house were thin, he had to assume.

Then there was that odd guy in the development; lived a house or two away from Alex. John, he thought his name might have been. John Laurens.

The guy constantly tried to talk to him; sometimes about the house, sometimes just about random things. But when he talked about the house, Alex constantly doubted his sanity because of what he said.

“Poltergeists,” John would tell him. “Type of ghost. I wouldn't be surprised if what you're hearing is one of those little devils, just tryna freak you out. As long as you stay away from the house, he'll just stick to sounds ‘n’ shit. Won't bother you.”

Alex didn't stay away from the house.

\- - - - -

Alex carefully opened the door, peering inside. He had decided to gather all the courage he had and prove himself — and John — wrong; no one lived there.

The house was dark, but light filtered through the windows in the entrance hall. The place looked much bigger on the inside than it had on the outside, if Alex was being honest; it kind of creeped him out.

As he walked through the building, he glanced behind himself over and over again, anxiety eating away at him. When he was just about ready to get the hell out of there, footsteps sounded alongside his own.

What felt like a pair of human hands pushed him forward, and he let out a shriek that resulted mainly from all his pent-up terror as he stumbled. He whirled, and was met with nothing but his surroundings.

“You're scared,” a voice said, quite casually, and he jumped. “That's adorable, really.”

His gaze darted from side to side; but _no one was there_.

“Maybe I should kill you. You're not supposed to be here; I really thought you'd be too terrified to just walk in.” A small laugh sounded, and Alex could already feel the panic overflowing within him, his chest tightening as the anxiety attack began to take hold. “But that would be no fun.”

Something grabbed him by the chin, and finally, _finally_ Alex saw him.

He looked completely human — he wasn't even transparent, unlike how Alex had thought ghosts would appear as. He had frizzy black hair, dark skin, and eyes the color of ice; a color no human eye could be. He was wearing a magenta coat, but everything blurred before Alex could take anything else in; he knew it was from panic and the constricting feeling his chest suffered in this moment.

And tears.

He cried most of the times he had panic attacks, and he was now as his vision fuzzed out with the salty droplets of water. He thought he saw the ghost frown, and some emotion he couldn't read in this situation glinted in his frosty blue eyes.

“Shhh,” the poltergeist — if John was right, this being _was_ a poltergeist — whispered. “Don't cry. I won't hurt you . . . yet.” He smirked. If Alex hadn't stopped breathing properly before, he had now.

“G-get the f-fuck away from m-me,” he quite nearly sobbed, and the grip on his chin tightened. The ghost's gaze darkened.

“It's funny that you think you have any power of me,” he hissed.

“What — _who_ are you?” Alex blurted, unable to keep his voice from cracking.

A laugh. “Just call me Thomas if you really need a name,” was the response.

“A-a-are . . . are y-y-y-you . . .” Alex stopped; his breath hitched, almost stopped — Thomas was far too close for his liking, and it just further roused his fear and panic.

“Am I what?” Thomas pressed in a particularly mocking tone.

“J-j-just get off m-me!” Alex shouted out of the blue; he tried to push Thomas away, but both his wrists were caught and pinned above his head — he hadn't realized he'd been backed against a wall until now.

The spirit's gaze flashed with what may have been anger — Alex still couldn't tell with his blurred vision. “Try that _one more time_ , I dare you,” he hissed, voice deathly calm.

“What d-d-do you want w-with m-m-me?” Alex's eyes widened as Thomas moved so their faces weren't even an inch apart.

“What would you say if I told you I wanted _you_?” the ghost whispered, voice almost inaudible.

Immediately the need to _fight back_ kicked in, and Alex squirmed, trying everything he could manage to _get the fuck away_.

But Thomas still managed to bring their lips together for one quick kiss and whisper “ _mine_ ” in his ear; then he vanished.

Alex fell to the floor, curled in on himself, and cried. Right now he didn't care about getting back outside (he had a feeling the spirit probably wouldn't let him out just like that anyways); he was too scared, too petrified — fear was his only emotion in this moment.

Why didn't he listen to John?

**Author's Note:**

> this was really bad. i regret writing it, ngl; and yet i'm posting it anyways.


End file.
